


Five Meals Coulson Cooks for Skye

by RowboatCop



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Coulson basically worships Skye, Coulson cooks, Day 3, Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, Kitchen Sex, Skoulsonfest 2k15, Skye is a goddamn superhero, Vaginal Fingering, and also food and sex, attempts at writing flirty banter, relationship milestones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 18:50:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3219617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Does what it says in the title. Established relationship fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Meals Coulson Cooks for Skye

**1\. Chicken Soup**

“Gross.”

“It’s a chicken.” Coulson shrugs, semi-apologizing for the appearance of the raw bird. “You like chicken.”

“Right, I liked _chicken_ ,” Skye agrees. “That's _a_ chicken.”

Coulson rolls his eyes but can’t quite bite back a smile.

“And soon this will be _chicken_.”

She looks somehow skeptical of that claim, and Coulson’s grin grows as he places the whole chicken in the bottom of their largest pot. He’s still aware of her eyes on him while he picks up the cutting board and carries it to the sink, where he washes both it and his hands.

Today is the first day he’s really been feeling 100% better since getting hit pretty hard with the flu. Skye had tended to him patiently all week — a lot more patiently and a lot more sweetly than he probably deserved because Coulson _hates_ being laid up in bed; he _hates_ being sick, and he knows he's a pain in the ass when it happens. And today when he asked to repay her, she had instead asked for this: to learn his chicken soup recipe so she could make it for him next time. Because she is much, much more patient and sweet than he deserves.

And it’s not like that’s surprising — Skye is actually a very kind, nurturing person — but it’s a part of her that he’s guessing not many people have seen. After all, part of the allure of Skye has always been that she’s distinctly unconventional. He’s not actually sure how she’d take it to know that the memory of her kissing his forehead and bringing him soup — even as she apologized that it was Campbell’s — is more than a little arousing. Something about having gone through this with her makes this _thing_ between them feel more real, more solid, and he just _wants_ her.

He clears his throat and looks down to the veggies she’s stopped chopping.

“Are you done with the parsnips?”

Skye nods and lifts her cutting board to slide them into the pile of celery, onion, potato, and carrot.

“Anything else?”

“Some garlic, a bay leaf, salt, and the broth.”

She nods thoughtfully, and it’s actually very cute how seriously she is taking this tutorial.

“So, now I need to do it on my own, but with you watching. Just to make sure I have it down.”

“That’s not necessary, you know. I don’t expect —”

“I know you don’t.” She rolls her eyes at him, like this isn’t even about him anymore. “Besides, it’s not like it’s that hard. You just put a bunch of vegetables in the pot with a whole chicken and boil it, right? That’s it?”

“Pretty much,” Coulson answers. “In about ninety minutes we’ll remove the chicken, shred it, and then stir it back in.”

“That’s ridiculously simple.”

“Rustic,” he corrects, smiling sheepishly at her.

“You told me you mostly cook basic, but I figured it was more than _this_.”

He knows she’s teasing him, but he can’t help but defend himself.

“Doing good basic isn’t as easy as you think. It’s all in the seasonings and the little touches.”

“You _are_ very good at the little touches,” she allows, her lips quirking into a flirty grin before she turns away from him to contemplate their vegetables.

“Hmm,” he agrees quietly, stepping up behind her and nuzzling under her ear. “Which little touches are those?”

She tenses for a moment, and he wonders if she’s going to pull away as long as they’re in the kitchen, but instead she leans back against him.

“That’s a good touch,” she finally answers as his right hand grips her hip while he nips at her earlobe. He laughs, just a little puff of air in her ear, but it makes Skye’s entire body shiver, sending her butt back to grind against him.

“Yeah?” He half-moans the meaningless question and runs his hands up from her hips to slip under her tshirt. Her belly is warm under his hands, and he smiles at the feel of her abdominal muscles tightening under his touch, though he doesn’t spend much time there. Instead, his hands quest upwards until he’s cupping her breasts through her bra.

“Phil,” she sighs his name and pushes her chest forward against his hands.

“Skye,” he whispers her name right back as his fingers quest under the cups of her bra and his hips push forward to grind himself against her butt.

She moans, far too loudly for the public space, and they move away from each other in silent agreement.

“Sorry,” he tells her as he takes a step back, though he can’t quite tear his eyes off of her — slightly disheveled and turned on and _Skye._

But they’ve been trying to be good in public spaces, trying not to draw attention to themselves. Basically, they have decided that the state of their relationship is nobody’s business. So they've been _together_ for a little while now, but they haven’t done any sort of announcement. Coulson mostly figures everyone knows, anyways, especially after Skye basically took over caring for him this week.

“Have you really never cooked before?” Coulson clears his throat and tries to pick back up some semblance of normal conversation, of publicly-acceptable behaviors.

“Some. One of the families I stayed with, the Smythes, were big on family dinner. I got really good at spaghetti. But then, you know, I haven’t had the space to cook anything for about ten years.”

Coulson swallows back any reaction to that — he knows it makes Skye uncomfortable when he worries over her past — and nods.

“You have to show me sometime.”

Skye openly scoffs at that, though.

“You’re telling me you don’t have a magic family spaghetti recipe?”

His mother’s sauce _is_ the best he’s ever had.

“Yeah, that's what I thought,” Skye responds to whatever look crosses his face. “Maybe _you_ should make spaghetti for _me_.”

Coulson just smiles at her and lifts the tray of veggies in order to slide them in on top of the chicken, along with the seasoning ingredients. The liquid is half water half canned broth, and then he puts a lid on the pot as they turn up the burner.

“And now we just wait,” Skye half states, half asks.

“Yes.”

“How should we pass the time?” As she asks the question, she runs her hand down Coulson’s chest and grips his belt to tug him closer.

He kisses her while her hand slides lower, so that he’s groaning into her mouth as she cups him through his pants.

“My bedroom.” He somehow manages the words in between his grunts at her hand on him, and Skye nods her agreement. The base is far from empty, after all, and they’re lucky no one has walked in already. (Coulson half-suspects that everyone has already decided to keep their distance when he and Skye are together, and he doesn’t mind.)

Skye laughs and darts away, leaving Coulson to follow her down the corridor to his bedroom.

 

**2\. Spaghetti**

“I’ve never had carrots in a marinara sauce before,” Skye informs him as she finishes chopping the vegetables in question.

“It’ll be good,” he promises, and she nods as though she has no doubt. “Just dump them in here.”

He’s already got his onion and garlic sweated down with peppers and mushrooms, and stands back while Skye slides in her contribution. Before Coulson reaches for his herb mixture, though, she wraps a hand around the back of his neck and tugs him into a soft kiss.

He smiles against her lips, and she quickly pulls back and lets him add his herbs, then stir in the carrots.

“You’re kind of sexy when you cook,” Skye informs him as she boosts herself backwards up onto the counter.

“Only kind of?” He flirts back, watching as she leans back on her hands.

She smiles at him, flirtatious and not a little coy, and Coulson slides the lid over his pan before grabbing the cans of tomatoes.

“You use canned tomatoes?”

“What’s wrong with canned tomatoes?”

“Nothing.” She holds up her right hand as though in surrender. “I just figured you’d use fresh ones. Isn’t that the foodie way?”

“You’d think so, but no.”

“Oh? How's that?”

He knows she’s mostly humoring him, but he warms to the topic as he works the can opener around two large cans of unsalted whole organic tomatoes with BPA-free linings. (SHIELD can’t afford this kind of expense on a regular basis, but he’s not above admitting that he’s out to impress Skye.)

“These,” he holds up a can, “are much better quality tomatoes than anything available to us outside a farmer’s market in June.”

She smiles at him, clearly amused by his enthusiasm, and he forces a frown. It doesn’t stick, and he winds up smiling back at her even if he tries to bite it back as he strains out the canned liquid into a measuring cup and then pulls down a bowl to seed and crush the tomatoes.

He sets up shop right next to her, despite the fact that there’s plenty of counter space that isn’t right by Skye’s butt. (But that space isn’t right by Skye’s butt.)

One by one, he splits the tomatoes open by sliding a finger through the red flesh, scoops out the seeds into a bowl destined for the compost pile, and then breaks them down further between his fingers.

It takes him a while to realize that Skye is watching almost too intently.

“Skye?”

“You have really sexy hands, you know?”

Her words make him almost instantly — embarrassingly — hard. It’s not something he quite understands about himself, but he thinks that listening to Skye approve of his handwriting would have the same effect.

Still, Coulson is usually pretty good at faking composure even when he has none, so he just raises a wry eyebrow at Skye.

“Sexy hands?”

“Yeah. You have really nice fingers, and you know how to use them.”

“Oh?” The noise is a little too high pitched, and Skye leans in to whisper in his ear.

“They feel really good inside of me.”

Coulson squeezes the last tomato between his fingers way too hard as he shivers at the sound of her voice.

“Fuck.” He swallows against his arousal and manages to pull away just for long enough to wash his _sexy_ hands in the sink. Then he presses himself between her knees and drags his hands slowly up her thighs.

“You want a demonstration?” He asks as he presses his fingers between her legs and then up to grip her belt.

“Are we going to be interrupted?”

“They know better,” he answers. “Tonight is special.”

They had officially announced themselves to the group today, surprising absolutely no one, but Skye is moving into his room and it's _official_ . He sort of likes that idea. It's not like this is going to change very much – not for their working lives or their personal lives – but there's no more pretending. And even though the whole crew at the Playground has long since adjusted to the fact that once a week or so, Skye and Coulson get the kitchen to themselves, it feels sort of good to have everyone officially know the _why_ of it.

Skye pulls him into a fast kiss before leaning her head back against the cabinetry behind her.

“Then yes, demonstrate,” she sighs and sinks back on her hands so that he can work open her belt and then the fly on her jeans.

He tugs them, and her panties, down enough to slide his hand easily between her legs and groans when his fingers slip over her clit.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs into her ear.

“Uh huh,” she agrees as she tilts her hips, encouraging his middle and index fingers to slide lower and inside of her.

He pulls back and meets her gaze with a grin and a raised eyebrow.

“Is this because I’m _kind of_ sexy when I’m cooking?”

Skye just rolls her eyes and slides her right hand around the back of his neck to tug him down into a kiss.

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” he murmurs as he curls his fingers, hitting her g-spot while he thrusts them inside of her.

Skye moans and lets her lips fall open under his, and he loves this about her — the way she gives herself over to him so fully. In a lot of ways it wasn’t easy at first, not for either of them, but she’s so responsive now, so receptive and open and sexy.

Coulson slides his mouth down her neck as he works his fingers inside of her, and he can feel it as her orgasm gets close. Her breath hitches with every thrust he makes, high pitched but quiet, and he thinks she'd be gripping his shoulders except that she's dropped both her hands on the counter behind her, supporting herself and keeping the angle just right.

She’s silent when she comes, but her whole body tenses, hips jerking against his hand as he feels her squeeze around his fingers.

He keeps his hand moving until she stills completely, her body slumped forward against him as she catches her breath.

“See,” she speaks into his neck, “you really know how to use them.”

“I’ll demonstrate some more in _our_ bedroom,” he promises, and Skye sighs happily into his neck before pulling back.

“We might need to disinfect the counter,” she posits as she jumps down, looking back to where her bare ass has been pressed into the granite.

“After,” he promises. Coulson slides his fingers past his lips before turning to the sink to wash his hands and then finish putting together the marinara.

Skye watches as he dumps in the tomatoes and part of the liquid before stirring and turning the mixture to simmer.

“We’ve only got about half an hour before I need to check on things,” he warns her as Skye grabs his hand and drags him towards their bedroom (and the thought of that — of _their_ bedroom — is really hot).

“I can make good use of that time,” she promises.

 

**3\. Mushroom Risotto and Pan-seared Salmon**

“This seems so complicated,” Skye posits from her seat on the counter, where she’s taken to sitting while watching him cook. Not that he gets to cook very often — too often these days, he and Skye are at opposite ends of the world for days at a time — so he enjoys it when he can.

“It’s not that hard, it’s just that I can’t walk away for too long.” The truth is that it _is_ a little complicated, but tonight is special. It's one year from the first time Skye worked up the nerve to kiss him, and even if the two of them will never exactly be a _normal_ couple, this is an anniversary that matters to him.

“You have to stay at the stove the whole time?”

“Pretty much,” he agrees.

She frowns at that, and Coulson can’t quite bite back a grin.

“Where’s the fun in that, then?”

“The risotto will be worth it, I promise.”

She looks skeptical, as though cooking should be more about foreplay than food, and Coulson can’t really say he minds that attitude. It’s sort of flattering, still, that Skye wants him as much as she does. As often as she does.

Yeah, he’s really not going to complain.

He’s just poured his second ladle full of warmed broth into the rice and sauteed mushrooms when he feels her slide up behind him, her front pressed to his back.

“If you can’t walk away, I guess I have to come here, huh?”

Coulson groans as Skye slides her hands around his waist and then up his chest, until her fingernails flick over the barely noticeable tips of his nipples.

“ _Skye_.”

“I’m not distracting you, am I?”

She’s distracting him quite effectively, but he’ll never tell her that or anything else that might make her consider stopping.

“No,” he tosses off as he stirs the rice.

“That’s good,” Skye answers. Her hands slide down his chest, pause over his belt buckle, and then down past his groin to feel up his inner thighs.

Coulson clenches his jaw and tries to focus on the rice, moves slowly as he adds another ladle full of broth in order to avoid spilling across the stove top.

He has to freeze through a shudder when her right hand closes around his erection through his slacks, and then she quickly unfastens his belt so she can slip her hand inside. He gets a little nervous when she opens his pants all the way, but her hand stays safely inside his boxer shorts as she wraps her fingers around him.

“Christ, Skye,” Coulson whispers, clenching his jaw against the need to buck his hips into her hand.

Behind him, she nuzzles her nose into his neck and then lays soft kisses on his back as she works her hand over him.

“Am I distracting you, yet?”

Coulson half-laughs at that, forcing himself to stir the rice and not let it burn.

“Yes, but don’t stop.”

“Not planning on it,” she agrees.

He bends forward slightly to give her more room to work, dropping his spatula to the counter top as he grips the edges on either side of the stove. The situation – the fact that it's so public – makes it especially hot, makes her hand on him feel extra intense, and when she pulls back, he groans in disappointment.

“Stir,” she orders him, and he does, scraping his spatula around the bottom of the pan while her hands sit safely on his belly. He adds another ladle of broth, and before he's put down the spatula again, her right hand slips back into his boxers.

Again, she pumps her fist over him, and Coulson sucks in deep, slow lungfuls of air against the teasing pull of her fingers.

He's not sure how long she continues like that, stroking him until he's sure he's about to come and then backing off so he can tend to their dinner, but she keeps it up until he's sure he can't take it anymore. She seems to know, though, when he's reached his limit, and after he adds a little more broth to the risotto, she forces him to lean back against the counter perpendicular to the stove and sinks to her knees in front of him.

He comes embarrassingly quickly once she sucks him into her mouth, unable to hold back against the warmth of her tongue circling the head of his cock after the desperate build up.

“Skye,” he groans her name as he comes and then half-collapses into the counter behind him, suddenly exhausted and out of breath. He watches as she stands up and turns to the stove, where she adds another ladle of broth and stirs the risotto carefully before turning back to him with a knowing smile.

“I think it's almost done,” she informs him.

“I think you're right. I need to start the fish.”

Coulson tugs up his pants as Skye watches.

“And are you planning a dessert, too?” 

“Just you,” he answers.

She hops back up on the counter and watches as he pulls out the prepped salmon.

“You're going to eat me for dessert? Do I get something, too?” She keeps a remarkably straight face through the teasing.

“It'll be dessert for you, too,” he promises. Skye's jokingly skeptical look makes him smile. “And then there's ice cream.”

 

**4\. Chocolate Chip Cookies**

“I don't think cookies constitute a whole meal.” Coulson frowns as he says it, trying to sound serious, but it doesn't quite work.

“Sure they do. There's flour and eggs chocolate. That's practically all the food groups.”

His lips quirk into a smile at that.

“Not all of us are burning a thousand calories a workout with Steve Rogers, you know.”

“I'm sure I can think of way to help you burn some extra calories,” she teases as she steps closer to him.

They kiss, slow and deep, until Skye pulls back.

“Besides, you talk about how good your chocolate chip cookies are all the time." She's exaggerating, but he's definitely mentioned it before.

He kisses her again, giving into her demands for one massively unhealthy dinner. It won't kill either one of them, he figures.

They set about getting the kitchen in order and pulling out all the ingredients when Skye catches him reading the back of the bag of chocolate chips and puts it together.

“You're just using the recipe on the Nestle bag,” Skye accuses as she looks at the array of ingredients spread out on the counter.

“No, I use more brown sugar. And real butter.”

“Still...”

“It makes a difference,” he promises, though her skepticism remains. “It's how my mother always did it,” he defends, which earns him a sweet smile.

“You baked cookies with your mom?”

“When I was young,” he agrees. “It was one of our things.”

“Cooking in general, right?”

“Not so much. She had a few good recipes, but mostly I’ve taught myself.”

“I liked her spaghetti sauce recipe,” Skye acknowledges as she rubs a hand along his forearm, as though offering comfort for bringing up his mother. 

“That’s one of her good ones. This is another.”

Skye doesn’t say anything, but he sees her looking down at the recipe on the chocolate chips which — he supposes he has to admit — is not technically _his mother’s_ recipe.

“She always said there was no need to reinvent the wheel, that Nestle had a perfectly good recipe to start from.”

He supposes that his strong attachment to the Nestle cookie recipe is one of those leftover parts of his past, one of those things that _isn’t_ a finer thing that he’s never really lost his taste for.

“You made these a lot, huh?”

“All the time,” he agrees.

Skye smiles at him, but he can see her lips slip into a wistful frown as she looks at their planned cookies.

“I've never made cookies before.”

Coulson places a gentle hand on her shoulder and rubs down her back.

“Skye...”

“I love you, you know?”

It's not what he expected her to say, and he's torn for a moment between his concern for her and the spike of happiness at her words. They don't say them often – they're both _doers_ when it comes to this stuff – but he can't deny that he loves to hear it, loves to hear Skye tell him that she loves him. And, yeah, happiness wins out pretty quickly.

“I do know. And I love you, too.” He tugs her towards him with a gentle hand in her hair, and she kisses him eagerly – with more intention and enthusiasm than he was expecting. Her tongue traces his lower lip a the same time that she pushes him up against the counter. “Do you want to go to the bedroom?”

“No,” she answers. “I want to bake cookies.”

She kisses him once more before stepping back and shooting him a reassuring smile.

“I'm okay,” she tells him, answering his unasked question. “What should I do?”

He directs her towards sifting together the dry ingredients while he mixes together the wet ones, and Skye follows the directions carefully, though she's unusually quiet as she works.

“Do you ever think about having kids?”

She asks the questions as he's cracking eggs, and it startles him into dropping one onto the counter.

“I'll take that as a no,” Skye jokes as he scrambles to wipe it up, and Coulson's thoughts are running away too quickly to even respond. Kids – a family – is something he's long since given up on. He's well and truly chosen SHIELD, after all, but it would be a lie to say that he never thinks about it. Especially since he and Skye have been together...

“Yes,” he finally manages to say. He's aware that he's cutting off something else she was saying while he was stuck in her own head, and she looks at him in shock. “Of course I think about it.”

“Oh. I thought maybe you–”

“Do you?”

“I have been. Lately.”

Coulson swallows and looks down at the mess of egg yolk he's made on the counter.

“What does lately mean?”

“Since you,” she answers simply.

“You think about having kids with me?” He can hear the hope coloring his tone, and Skye's responding smile almost splits her face.

“Yeah. Or...” She pauses, almost sheepish. “Or adopt? Because, I mean–”

“Of course.”

They blink at each other, and then Skye clears her throat.

“I'm not ready right now. I mean, I'm sort of still figuring out how to be a superhero.”

“There's no rush,” he reassures her.

“But I want to. With you.”

He grips her by the back of her head and reels her into another kiss. This time he's the desperate one, but when he combs his hands through her hair as he backs her towards a counter, his fingers catch on a sticky mass of egg white.

“I got egg in your hair,” he apologizes as he manages to pull back his hands without tugging on her hair more.

“Guess I need to go shower.” Her voice is teasing, promising, and Coulson barely spares a glance for the nearly-completed cookie dough. “It'll be here when we're done,” she suggests, to which he definitely agrees.

 

**5\. Grilled Cheese**

He hasn't actually been able to take his hands off of her since she got back to the base, and Skye doesn't seem to mind much.

“You need to eat something,” he suggests, and Skye nods in agreement, though she remains tucked safely against his chest.

He sort of likes it a lot – that she goes out and saves the damn world, but when she comes home it's into his arms. (As though he can do anything to protect her that she can't do herself. Still, though.)

They move together through the kitchen, Skye tucked under his left arm, to the fridge to gather the ingredients for grilled cheese. She always loves grilled cheese.

Together, they lay out slices of wheat bread and cheddar next to the stove, and then Coulson shifts behind her as he turns on the burner beneath the cast iron skillet.

“I wasn't sure we were going to make it out of there,” she tells him, her voice quiet as they both watch a drizzle of oil heat up.

“I know.” He wraps his arms more firmly around her middle and presses his nose into her hair, still damp from the shower. He had been terrified just listening to the proceedings from the base, and he almost doesn't want to tell her how scared he had been – how bad it really was.

“I just wanted to see you.” She says it like it's some horrible admission, like she should have been thinking only about the mission or the fate of the world.

“Me, too.” Coulson kisses the side of her face, over her ear, down her neck.

He's not sure at what point comfort and support turns into sexual desire, except that he's suddenly desperate for her, hard against her butt as he holds her against him. His lips on her neck move from light to sensual – tasting her skin for his own benefit as much as hers.

Instantly, Skye's hands are up in his hair – behind both their heads – and his hands are under her shirt, cupping her breasts. He nips at her neck, a little harder than he normally would, as he pinches down on her nipples and grinds his hips forward.

“I need you,” he mumbles into her skin. “Right now.”

“Yes,” she hisses and rubs her body backward against his.

Coulson barely thinks to shut off the burner before he turns them away from the stove and presses her into a clear section of counter, so that her hands can land on the granite surface as he again grinds himself against her backside. His hands shake when he draws them down her torso in order to pull out the bow tied at the waist of her sweats – in seconds, she's bare from the waist down, and his right hand is between her legs.

It's a heady thing to feel how much she wants him, too – how much his own stupid, instant need for her is matched. He fumbles, left handed, at his the tie of his own sweats while he rubs his fingers in tight circles over her clit; he can tell from the hitches in her breath that she's already close, already on edge.

He finally gets his sweats and boxers down his legs and lets his cock slip forward between her thighs, but he makes no move to push inside of her. Instead, he redoubles his efforts with his fingers as his left arm once again circles her body, pulling her more tightly against him.

“God, Coulson, hurry up or this is going to happen without you.”

“And then it can happen again, with me,” he whispers into her ear as he picks up the pace of the tight circles on her clit.

It doesn't take long to get her there – her breath comes in short, shallow gasps and he can feel the pulse of her orgasm under his fingertips. He holds her tight against him as she comes, almost silently.

It's actually shocking when he feels her reaching between her legs, but she's the one that presses his cock up and inside her before the spasms he can still feel under his fingers have even stopped.

Coulson groans as he pushes further into her, at the heat and the warmth and the feel of her alive and here with him. He wraps both arms tightly around her, molding himself to her back as they lean together into the countertop. It's not the best angle, but he can't fathom the idea of not touching her with every part of him.

“Skye.” He grunts her name on his first full thrust into her body, and she returns it with a moan that's probably too loud for the kitchen – even if it is late.

“Phil.” She's _loud_ as he pushes into her again, and he loves this part – when he's inside her after her first orgasm, and she really lets go. It's the only time she's loud, the only time she lets herself do more than pant, and it occurs to him that doing this in the kitchen might be a bad move.

“We might wake someone,” he mumbles in her ear, though he doesn't actually stop.

“Then go faster,” Skye manages to spit out between moans at each thrust.

And Skye saved the damn world tonight, he figures, so everyone who benefited from that – which definitely includes everyone on base – can just live with the fact that she's getting fucked in the kitchen.

They fall further into the counter – Skye's chest pressed into the hard surface and Coulson's chest pressed into her back – as he follows her order, doubling his pace. The angle is still slightly awkward for him, but it seems to work like magic for Skye.

She makes no attempt to silence herself, lets the hitched breaths turn into moans and then increasingly high pitched quiet screams, and it's stupidly hot. He thinks, sometimes, he could come from these noises alone – the ones she makes when she's really letting herself go.

He can feel it as well as hear it when she finally comes, her voice breaking on a quiet scream of his name, at which point Coulson slips his hands under her body in order to raise her off the counter with his hands over her breasts. He comes so quickly after that, thrusting almost desperately as he chases his own orgasm inside of her, and they collapse forward onto the counter.

Coulson kisses her neck and shoulders as they both catch their breaths, already feeling so much better – as though this has somehow proved the fact that Skye is alive in a way that just seeing her and holding her could never do. He's familiar with the sensation, has seen his fair share of life and death situations before, but he can't remember it ever being so acute.

He's trying to find a way to tell her this – something perhaps more elegant than simply telling her that he loves her – but the sound of Skye's stomach growling cuts through his more romantically inclined thoughts.

“Let's get you some food,” he murmurs in her ear.

“You gonna make me a sandwich?”

She smiles at the words, like it's at least partly a joke, but Coulson only kisses the side of her head before pulling back to clean himself up. Honestly, he's happy to be the one waiting for her on base, her faithful Penelope at home, greeting her with sex or a sandwich or really whatever she wants.

Fully clad in their pajamas again, Skye tucks herself in front of him as they once again heat up the pan for her grilled cheese.

  


 


End file.
